Without Friends
by The Perfect Spell
Summary: Without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other things. Everyone knows Peter helped the Dark Lord rise again. But he was not alone. He had a friend. A tale of friendship, lust and deceit. Better summary inside. PPOC


**Without Friends**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other things. Everyone knows Peter Pettigrew betrayed the Potters. Everyone knows the Dark Lord was defeated by the infant Harry. Peter helped the Dark Lord rise again. When Voldemort was in hiding in the forests of Albania, Peter found an old friend. A tale of friendship, lust and deceit. PPOC

**A/N:** I was thinking about what ever happened to Voldemort and Peter when they were travelling through the forests of Albania. The Dark Lord was still without his body during the summer holidays (POA-GOB). Peter was all alone– finding food, housing, water alone is difficult, but he had to take care of the evilest man alive. Surely he had to have help too, after all, there's only so much a man can do. This is where I thought of the idea for this story. It's my first fan fiction ever. So, please be nice and review; and help me improve. (:

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_**Prologue**_

October the thirty-first, nineteen eighty one. The Dark Lord was defeated when his _Avada Kedavra_ killing curse rebounded on him when he used it on Harry Potter after killing both his parents – first his father, then his mother. Torn from his body, his spirit fled the scene, where eventually it came to reside in a form, like a human child, but hairless, scaly-looking – a dark, raw, reddish black.

Thirteen years later, Scabbers the Rat escaped from Ronald Weasley, running back to his one true master.

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It was mid June, nineteen ninety-four. The night was surprisingly cold. And dark. A lone, hunched figure, carrying a small bundle of what appeared to be rags staggered through the dense forest, occasionally tripping on some stray branches. If anyone were to see him now, they would have commented that he looked exceptionally rat-like. He did not know if it she was still living where he remembered – he could only guess, and pray that she was. Even God would not have been able to save him from the hell that was awaiting him if this one last option failed. Although, some may have said, he was already living in hell.

After what seemed like an eternity stumbling and tripping, he emerged into a small clearing.

_Finally,_ he thought, as he took a step closer towards the cottage that was situated in the middle of it. Pausing to cast his gaze upwards, he found that the trees here were no longer as dense as before, and he could actually see a star. _Venus, perhaps?_ He wondered if he would see it ever again, for he knew, his chances that she was still there were very slim.

Inhaling deeply to quell his fear, he clutched the bundle of rags closer to him, for the night was bitingly cold, and he could not risk Him freezing. No, he could not. He took a tentative step forward. Nothing happened. Drawing courage from this, his strode towards the cottage, past the gate, past the vegetable garden, and stopped at the doorway. His trembling hand reached out for the old-fashioned knocker. Hesitation made him pause.

_No,_ he thought, _just knock already. It's only her, not some bloody monster. I hope._

With that, he rapped sharply on the knocker three times. The silence that followed spiraled horribly.

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It was surprisingly cold for a mid-June night. I settled down in my favourite recliner to reread _The Lord of the Rings_, just like any other night for the past thirteen or so years. It still felt so good, having a routine once again. No more fighting, no more running, no more love. And best of all, no more uncertainty. Everything was over, and He was gone. Whether that was a boon or a bane, I had yet to find out. But for now, all my mind processed while sitting so comfortably was that another day was almost over, and for a couple of hours at least, there were no potions to be brewed, no work to be done. And there was my absolutely comfortable bed to end the day in. Thank goodness for all the small comforts in life.

Pausing at a particularly boring bit where Frodo was travelling, I let my thoughts wander. To the cup of hot chocolate that I would brew later if I wasn't too lazy to. To the marsh mellows that went so well with them. To all the sweet strawberries out there in my garden. To Peter Pettigrew.

Just then, the sounds of three sharp raps resonated through air, slicing the silence of the night air into pieces.

_Weird,_ I mumbled.It had to be some lost soul. It had to be. No one knew where I was staying. For a few moments, I froze, hoping that living alone for so long has taken its toll on me, that I was simply hallucinating and imagining funny sounds in the dead of the night.

Rap. Rap. Rap. The tapping on the door sounded again, albeit this time less sure, less certain – almost hesitant.

_Damn. _My mind was certainly playing tricks on me now. It had even included details on how the raps were executed. _More sleep Lexy, you need more sleep. Go and sleep now, and ignore the rapping. It'd go away come morning, _the tiny voice at the back of my head whispered.

Rap. Rap. Rap. There it was again. This time, there was no mistaking it. Relief rushed over me as I realized that I was not going mad after all (although I still felt that there was a _tiny_ chance I was becoming schizophrenic – the voice in my head and all). But the relief soon gave way to trepidation, no, anger as I stood up hurriedly from the recliner, _The Lord of the Rings_ unceremoniously tossed aside, and stomped to the door. That bastard was going to break my knocker. It cost me one hundred galleons and that idiot's tapping away like I was deaf. _Actually, you are quite, _the tiny voice informed me none-too-kindly. Oh shut up already.

Tiny voices in my head aside, I returned my attention to the more pressing matter. Slight fear coursed through me, but the more overwhelming sensation was curiosity. Who would be in the middle of a dense forest, in the dead of the night? I just had to find out. _But what if it's Them? What if They've come back for you? You know They never leave anyone alive. They'll be back to get you,_ Mr. Tiny Voice whispered. As much as I'd hate to admit it, he was quite right. What if they did come back to get me?

In the end, I figured I could berate the pea brain about my knocker and the money at the same time, as well as to satisfy my curiosity. Well, to kill two birds with one stone is not bad. I threw all caution to the wind, and opened the door. The next moment I regretted not making my hot chocolate and eating my mush mellows for I did not want to die hungry. I almost had a heart attack.

Peter Pettigrew stood in front of me. Covered in scratches. Clothes torn. Hair disheveled. With a bundle of rags cradled tightly his arms.

But suddenly, _and weirdly too, I must add_, I felt more alive then I had for a long, long time. _You just felt like you were having a heart attack not two minutes ago_, Tiny Voice reminded me. Pushing that thought away, I returned my attention on to the almost amazing spectacle in front of me – Peter Pettigrew alive. I had long given up hope that he was alive, that They had killed him.

"Lex…," he begun, but was cut off in mid sentence (or rather, mid-word) as I pounced on him, enveloping him in a bone crushing hug. The euphoria of meeting a long lost friend was nothing short of exhilarating. It was only after the bundle of rags began to squirm did I let go, albeit a little unwillingly, of Peter, who was by then gasping for breath. I seriously didn't mean to do that to him, I had no idea I was so strong. _Maybe he's squirming because of something else, _Mr. Voice offered. I peered closely at the bundle of "rags". Peter, following my line of vision, started to squirm too, not unlike the bundle.

"Ermms Lexy..", he begun nervously, as the bundle squirmed, "I need your help"

The bundle squirmed again.

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**A/N:** The Prologue is up! Please be nice and press that little button on the bottom left side of the page so I know whether to continue this story. I think the storyline has potential, and I have pretty much the whole story mapped out. So please, review so I know what you think of it, and whether I should continue it :D


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